It never gets old. No matter how many times a week my feet carry me down the same familiar wooded trails to where it opens up to sand and water. No matter how often I slip off my shoes and wade into the cool edge of the lake, or dive headlong beneath its surface, it never gets old.
I’ve been here a thousand times—and still, every time, my breath catches in my throat as I crest the top of the dunes and catch that first glimpse of Lake Michigan. It’s the first time all over again as awe wraps itself around me so completely I forget the world beyond this one breathtaking moment.
My wonder never ceases to match the depth of this place. Liquid deep. Unfathomable. Stretching farther than my eyes can reach, farther than my words can go, farther than I can comprehend.
It holds me, humbles me, renews me.
Yes, somehow—no matter how many times I return—every time is as if it were the first.
This is the remarkable ordinary.
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